


Feed You to The Fire

by Fudgyokra



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Begging, Boys in Chains, Dirty Talk, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Sex Toys, Sounding, Verbal Humiliation, Vibrators, mentioned SladeDick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 03:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17821427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: "You're mine for as long as I want you, Hood."





	Feed You to The Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Quite a while ago, I received a request on my [Tumblr](http://braingray.tumblr.com) for more non-con involving bottom Jason, so here it is, finally!
> 
> Title from Seether's "See You At The Bottom."

When Jason comes to, he doesn’t feel right. It’s an acute instinct, honed in him from the couple years of training he’d gotten under Batman, to notice the exact instant that something is wrong, either with him or his surroundings. Somehow, it has come in handy too late this time.

His arms are tied so tightly behind his back that he can feel his shoulder blades ache under the strain, and his ankles are shackled to the grimy concrete floor. The worst part is he’s stark nude, with another chain leading from his neck solidly into the ground. It feels dehumanizing.

Jason lifts his ankles experimentally and finds a painful burn there, as if he’d already spent several minutes trying to do just that, even though he doesn’t remember it.

From the corner of the cell, someone says, “About time, Hood.” The words give Jason a jolt, not because of the surprise, but because it calls to attention the fact he _isn’t_ wearing his hood, least of all anything else.

“Who’s there?” he asks, only to find that his voice is scratchy, like he’d been screaming. When he gazes down at his chest, he finds cigarette burns and scrapes of varying severity littering his trunk and thighs. He grunts. “What the hell did you do to me?”

“I’m teaching you, of course.”

Memories come flooding back, like a bad dream after you’ve slept for too long. He remembers being taken down by a wall of muscle, held down until—until what? He was drugged into unconsciousness? All indicators pointed to that being the most logical assumption. With a snarl, he spits back, “Teaching me what? How to take a hit? In case you’ve forgotten, I did plenty of that when I was fifteen.”

“Not like this, kid.”

Suddenly he’s plagued by dual sensations: A chill of fear that chases up his spine, and a knot of something else that twists in his gut. He blames both on the fact he _knows_ that voice. “…Wilson,” he says, not like a question. “What’s the deal, you freak? I thought you had your hands full with my goody-goody brother.”

A light comes on, bathing him in too-bright fluorescence, at which he instinctively cringes. Now that he has his vision back, he can see Slade smirking like the bastard he is. “I’ve already taught him his lesson. It’s your turn now.”

Jason doesn’t know what that means and he’s not sure he wants to. Despite his position, he makes his feelings known with a curl of his lip and blazing, narrowed eyes. “A girl likes to hear she’s special,” he says, with all the wise-cracking energy he can muster. “I’m no rebound.”

Slade barks an unfriendly laugh. When he draws closer, Jason can see he has a case in one hand and a bag in the other. Whatever they might contain, he bristles when he’s faced with both dangling before him. “I brought some things to aid in our little game. I’d like for you to pick one.”

Even if he knows he won’t get an answer, Jason scoffs and asks, “What are they?”

Predictably, Slade replies, “Presents.” Then, just to rub it in Jason’s face, he adds, “Brand new. Picked especially for you.”

Jason doesn’t take the bait and instead snorts like it’s all very hilarious. “I ain’t picking from your sicko torture methods, Slade. I’m sure they’re both equally awful.”

“Ah.” The sound is quick but definitive. Jason pales, because he knows exactly what that means, but he’s too proud to beg for his choice back. So, when Slade sets his “presents” on the ground and opens each of them, he remains as still and unflinching as he can when he’s told, “Then I’ll just have to use both.”

“Oh, joy,” he deadpans. “I can’t wait.”

The box is unlatched and flipped open to reveal a set of long, thin metal rods that Jason doesn’t like the looks of. As if he couldn’t already catch a glimpse, Slade spins the box around, so it faces him. “Sounding rods,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Medical-grade.” He leans in and curls his fingers around Jason’s chin so hard he can’t squirm away like he wants to. “Never say I didn’t get you the best there was.”

When he backs away, the bag is opened next. Jason sees a bit of pink plastic and its adjoining remote, and, oh, he _knows_ what that is. He’s still snarling by the time Slade waves it in his face like a milk-bone in front of a dog. “This,” he begins in his demonstrative voice, “is ten inches of silicone. I’m sure you know what that’s for.”

Despite the angry, rapid-fire lifts and falls of his chest, Jason’s entire face flares red. “Go fuck yourself.” This time when Slade’s hand comes to his face, it’s to brush his knuckles along one cheek in a gesture of mock comfort. “I mean it. Get your hands off me.”

“You’re not the boss when you’re in my den, Hood.”

“Why don’t you let me go, then? Fight me on neutral turf like a real man.”

That’s met with a wry smile, deepening the lines around Slade’s mouth, which Jason’s ashamed to find himself glancing at with a twist in his stomach. “I’m afraid that’s off the table.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?” Jason snarls, hoping to win back some pride.

“My pet, I’ve already won. What I’m going to do to you is me reaping my reward.”

He doesn’t like the intent gleaming in the man’s eye, knows he’ll do it without hesitation if Jason doesn’t find a way out of these damned chains. It seems like it might be a moot point, anyway, because Slade’s already here, with his hands inching down Jason’s chest as if it were possible to make him more aware of the situation he’s in.

“Relax,” he says, and Jason wishes his arms were free if only to be able to hit him.

“You can’t be serious about this. Even a creep like you must have morals, right?”

His question is tense, building in discomfort, but it goes ignored while Slade reaches for the monstrous vibrator and something else within the confines of the bag, which turns out to be a pack of triple-A batteries. Watching him quietly unwrap the batteries and deposit them into the toy was grueling enough as it was, to say little of the way Jason’s skin prickled with goosebumps at the sound of it turning on to its lowest speed. It begins as a gentle whir, but as Slade clicks experimentally through the modes, of which there are apparently four, it becomes a rather alarming jackhammering that he thinks has absolutely no business being as threatening as it is.

Slade flicks it off and sets it aside just long enough to pull a bottle of lube from the bag as well. As he’s watching the toy get doused in the substance and rubbed with one of Slade’s large hands, Jason has to say something, even though his mouth is peculiarly dry. “You aren’t really going to—”

“Hush, brat,” he’s commanded, and for whatever reason, he snaps his lips shut. Now was really not the time for an authoritative man to come at him, since he’s got a weakness for that on a good day and an all-out lust for it on a bad one. But this is something different entirely; this isn’t roleplay, this isn’t a game. Slade was actually planning to rape him here in this nondescript little cellar in the middle of god-knows-where, shove things in him until he gets whatever it is he wants from him. Which, now that Jason thinks about it, was never specified. He thinks back to the mention of Dick and swallows hard around a lump in his throat.

“Come on,” he says in a way he hopes is far from pleading. He’s not ready to drop that low, not yet. “What do you want from me? Information? Money? A play-date with my stupid brother? I can make any of that happen if you just let. Me. Go.” Neither his offers nor the way he growls them changes Slade’s face.

“You wanna know what I want, kid?” Slade kneels on one knee in front of him, uses his free hand to jerk down on the chain holding Jason’s neck, and moves so their faces are just far enough apart for his single-eyed gaze to hold its threat. “I want to push you to your limits. Watch you squirm for me, _take it_ from me as many times as you’re able, until you’re broken down into a good little whore who begs me to do as I please with him.”

Jason retains his stare despite the cold burn in the pit of his stomach. “If you think I’d ever beg for a man like you, then you’re crazier than you look.”

Abruptly, Slade grabs him by the base of his cock, wrenching a gasp from his lips just seconds before the cold, wet toy is unceremoniously shoved between his legs, breaching a good inch by the time the gasp twists into a groan. He’s spent years in his own personal hell, to the point where pain and pleasure process in much the same way, so this is nothing, even if it stings. What truly hurts is the blow to his pride when his cock spasms in Slade’s grip and the man makes a long, low “ohh” sound like he’s caught him red-handed. “I see,” he says, “you won’t beg, but you’ll give it up just like that.”

Jason bares his teeth, but it comes off as more of a grimace than the threatening gesture he means to make. Between his legs, Slade’s moving the toy up into him by force, fighting against tensed muscle while he strokes him with his other hand. Eventually, just to make the pain abate, he relaxes and allows the remaining inches to penetrate without incident, even if the tugging burn keeps his teeth gritted.

“See, I was confident you’d be good.”

He doesn’t have the proper curses lined up, so what comes out instead is a stunted moan, which he regrets the moment it passes his lips.

Slade clicks his tongue. “If I had known you were so greedy for it, I wouldn’t have bothered drugging you to get you here.” He wiggles it around a bit, and Jason bites back a grunt when it knocks against his prostate, sending shocks through his system. “Am I hot or cold?” the man jokes, grinning predatorily at him while he hits the spot dead-on and watches as Jason’s hips jerk forward of their own accord. “I’ll take that as ‘hot.’”

“Fuck you,” Jason spits.

“Haven’t you found what stubbornness gets you?” To make his point, he drags the toy out to the tip and slams back in with a force that drags a yell, unbidden, from Jason’s throat. He does it again, and again, and again, until Jason’s thighs shiver and he’s panting without meaning to. As often as he’s done this himself, he’s never had anyone else do it, and he’s certainly never been stimulated with such accuracy and strength. He hates himself for it, but he’s fully hard and leaking already, right there where Slade can see.

He tries again, albeit more weakly: “Fuck…you…”

Slade shakes his head like it’s a shame and buries the toy in him to the hilt, careful to press it up against where Jason wants it both the most and the least when the man clicks the remote to its lowest setting, beginning the vibrations. Nothing can stop the desperate moan from finding its way out, but by now he’s sure his pride is as shattered as it can get tonight.

Fate seems determined to prove him wrong, because then Slade reaches for the sounding rods and slides an appraising finger over each of them until he picks one out and sets the rest aside, so he can slick lube across the length of it that he isn’t holding. Jason narrows his eyes, but they shoot wide open when he’s grabbed by the base and finds the cold steel poking against him. “Don’t you dare,” he hisses, as if he has any control.

“You’re going to want to be still for this part, boy.” Slade thumbs at his slit, making him hiss between gritted teeth, but even that’s less daunting than the wet, cold tip aligning itself with his urethra. He wants to squirm away, break out of these chains and beat his captor black and blue; what he actually does is hold his breath, watching with one eye closed as the rod sinks in.

Every centimeter feels equivalent to ten minutes of cardio. Straining not to pant or flinch wears him out, but he can’t betray anything other than how disgusted he was. Because he _was_ , wasn’t he? The toy was buzzing away behind him, and he feels impossibly stuffed as it is without this damn rod filling him up further.

“Having fun?” Slade asks anyway, like he can see behind Jason’s eyes, straight into his brain.

He tries to give an unequivocal, “No,” but his voice is devoid of all fire. It sounds hollow enough that it nearly makes him cringe, but he’s mindful not to move at Slade’s behest, only because he’s wary of getting hurt. Truthfully, he expected to be hurt anyway. Instead, he’s ridiculously warm and full in the lewdest possible ways. It comes close to breaking him down, but he won’t allow it.

Shakily, he says, “I’ll kill you, bastard.”

Slade has the nerve to laugh from where he’s knelt, gingerly holding Jason in one hand while his other violates him, sliding the rod back and forth in the tiniest increments. It feels strange, wrong, and degrading—even more so when he’s urged to relaxed, Slade’s voice mockingly soothing as he lifts his gaze to hold Jason’s dead-on. Without being able to struggle against what’s being done to him, all he can do is close his eyes, huff out a breath, and focus his energy on trying not to make any errant sounds. It’s hard to maintain himself with vibrations constantly assaulting the spot he’s most sensitive, not to mention the heavy stare he can still feel crawling over his skin making him feel appropriately debauched.

Jason’s known for a long time that he gets off on being watched, but in relation to the fact he’s still getting shockwaves of pleasure every time Slade demeans him or brushes his fingers against the head of his cock while he’s sounding him, he guesses that exhibitionism is one of his less bothersome kinks.

It’s not the act itself or the idea of being so full, but the fact he’s being forced to take it that makes him shiver. He knows he should hate that the most, but the shame that burns beneath his skin at how he’s being lowered only thrills him more. Eventually, despite all efforts, a keening sound fights its way out of his throat.

“Having fun, pet?”

“No!” Jason cries, right as the rod sinks just a little lower inside him and connects with the frantic motions of the toy. It’s a shock to his system when the metal starts buzzing alongside the silicone, and what comes out before he’d barely taken a breath is a downright _scream_.

“ _Stop,_ ” he growls more than says, as much a warning as he can grate out once the pressure becomes too much and everything in him starts to ache. Predictably, he is ignored. Once he cums, shaking from head to toe and leaking obscenely around the metal inserted in him, it’s more a strained cry that makes it out than anything.

Slade surveys him with interest, slowly withdrawing the rod and setting it aside with the others. “You did well,” comes the wayward praise, nonetheless sending a pang of unwanted pleasure through Jason.

The fact that Slade doesn’t shut the toy off makes him groan out a pathetic, “Please…” in spite of his pride.

“Not yet,” the man returns with a wicked smile. His hand gropes suggestively at the crotch of his pants, and Jason groans again, trying with what’s left of his willpower to shake his head. “Oh, yes. I’m afraid you’ve got a little more to go before you’re done.”

Jason isn’t necessarily surprised when Slade grabs his hair and forces him toward his zipper, but he tries his best to glare nonetheless. It falters the moment Slade unzips and fishes himself out of his briefs. He’s already hard, all from watching Jason fall apart. Another iron-hot thrill shoots up his spine, making him shudder and tense against a gasp that wants out.

Then Slade’s cock bumps insistently against his tightly-pursed lips and Jason can physically feel his entire face go red with indignation. Shaking his head does nothing to dissuade the man above him from tightening the hand in his hair, dragging him forward so roughly that the chain around his neck jangles with the movement, but stubbornly, he keeps his teeth clenched. Slade must see the determined flex in his jaw, because he hums as if he expected as much and kneels to retrieve the pink remote from the ground.

There’s only a second to panic before Jason hears a deliberate _click,_ followed by the most embarrassing noise he’s ever made. It’s very nearly a wail, at least before Slade shoves his cock into Jason’s mouth and gags him into silence. Any sound after that comes from his throat being violated, and he can’t, for the life of him, do anything except stare wide-eyed first at Slade’s pelvis, then up at his face.

The man must like the expression Jason wears, because he feels the way Slade pulses on his tongue. Thoughtlessly, he screws his eyes shut and focuses on breathing around it instead of trying to bite. He’s not sure where the impulse comes from, nor the deep groan that builds at the back of his throat when Slade grabs his neck and forces himself deeper, rolling his hips until Jason’s eyes water and he has to open them again to blink the tears away.

Slade tucks the remote into his breast pocket and grunts, using his newly-free hand to hold himself at the base and prod the inside of Jason’s cheek. “Pity we don’t have more time together,” he teases. “I’d make you sit pretty for me every day. Make you take my cock just like this.”

Jason knows _now_ would be the time to bite, while he’s being played with and humiliated, but for reasons he doesn’t want to analyze, he doesn’t do anything but stare up at Slade with big, watery eyes. The man chuckles, loosening the grip on his neck and moving it to hold his chin instead while he slides along Jason’s tongue at a leisurely pace.

Then, abruptly, he grabs either side of Jason’s head and fucks his mouth in earnest, choking him again and again with a punishing pace. Each thrust moves him bodily, the chain holding him down clanging furiously the entire time. Jason’s mortified more at the way he drools around the intrusion than at the actual penetration, and Slade seems to enjoy that too, given the way he grins at the pitiful little puddle Jason’s making on the floor.

“I know your type,” Slade says, darkly. “You fight and you bitch, but deep down you’re desperate for a taste of a _real_ man, eh?”

Jason thinks this situation can’t get any worse, but that’s before Slade drags the remote from his pocket and clicks it again, ramping the vibrator one speed higher. For a moment of insanity, he’s grateful for Slade’s cock down his throat, if only because its presence keeps him from outright shrieking at the unforgiving bursts of painful pleasure that warm his whole body.

“Work a little harder for me and I’ll turn it off,” he’s told. For some reason, the second that processes, he starts bobbing his head along Slade’s shaft of his own accord, downright desperate for the pulsating to end. His own sex stands at attention again, leaking another puddle beneath him that makes him feel messy and used. Even still, he gives a muffled moan. His eyes flutter uselessly, and by the time he realizes he’s jerking his hips in a mockery of frottage, searching instinctively for friction, he can’t take back the fact that he’s been caught. He wishes Slade wasn’t watching him so closely. Just once, he wants the man not to notice his faults.

“Maybe you’d like me to fuck you, too?” the man asks, and Jason moans again, damn it all. “Desperate little whore,” Slade answers, pleased. The minute change in pitch makes Jason hope he’s close enough to the edge for this to be fast. He doesn’t consider that Slade might not be done with him afterward.

At least, not until after the man grunts and jams himself all the way down Jason’s throat, holding his head firmly in place while he cums, forcing him to swallow just to breathe again. When he slips out with a satisfied sigh and Jason crumples to the floor in his own mess, the last few seconds of hope that this is the end tick by before the toy is cranked up to its highest speed.

Jason does scream this time, jerking forward so harshly that his face nearly ends up acquainted with Slade’s boot. His arms spasm fruitlessly against their bonds, thighs shaking violently behind him.

“I do enjoy the way you scream,” Slade says as he steps away and zips himself up. He circles around him and Jason doesn’t even try to kick or squirm away when Slade grabs the toy by the base and slides it away just long enough for him to suck in a breath of relief and relax his tense muscles. Then it’s plunged right back in and he screams again, shuffling forward on his knees as far as the chains around his ankles allow him. He tries to bring his knees together but Slade’s hand pries them apart again while the other fucks him with the vibrator, slowly, with calculated strength. “Beg for me,” he demands again. “And I’ll turn it off.”

There’s no hesitation before Jason moans out a desperate, “ _Please,_ Slade.”

The toy presses impossibly deeper, and Slade grinds it against his prostate so aggressively Jason sees stars. He can’t even moan so much as pant and gasp against the floor, squirming pitifully until every muscle in his body locks and his eyes roll back into his skull with the force of his orgasm.

Slade seems surprised, which is worse than his earlier cocky pride. “I didn’t even touch you,” he offers, making Jason’s face burn hotter where it was currently pressed against the concrete. Blessedly, the vibrations stop with one last click, and Jason slumps all the way down while his body twitches and shivers in the aftershocks. Slade’s voice sounds distant and hazy when he says, “I’m impressed.”

For a minute, he’s content to just lie there and recover from the sudden weariness he’s plagued with, but then he feels the toy slip out of him and he whines at the abrupt emptiness without meaning to. Worse, Slade hooks both thumbs into him and spreads him open to the tune of a pitifully wounded noise on Jason’s part.

As he fears, Slade makes his intentions clear with a gruff declaration of how he isn’t done with him yet. Whatever argument he has queued for that gets pushed into the back of his mind when the head of Slade’s cock presses against his used hole with purpose, and by then all he can think of is how it must be some strange super-serum effect that keeps Slade hard and ready to go after all that.

Jason’s breached with Slade’s thumbs still inside of him, and the stretch forces another crumpled moan from his lungs before he says, weakly, “Don’t.”

Slade withdraws his hands in favor of planting them on Jason’s hips, but that’s all the reprieve he’s granted, because the man slides all the way home in one smooth motion, and the hot, raw friction carves through Jason with enough intensity to make him clench his fists. Slade’s not as long as the toy but he’s thicker, and the powerful thrusts he immediately starts with are too much for Jason to handle in his oversensitive state. To make the point known, not that Slade will take pity on him, he tries again to propel himself away using his knees, but the chains on his ankles are short, meaning he can only make it a few meager inches. Instead of pulling him back, Slade scoots forward, leaving no more options for escape, and, _fuck,_ Jason doesn’t know when he lost his brainpower, but it’s certainly spent by now, much like the rest of him.

Hands roughly pick his hips up again, allowing Slade’s cock to slide deeper, until it draws a sigh from Jason that sounds far too satisfied. The shame of the realization is enough to clear his head at least a little bit—enough for him to grit out a meaningful, “You’re a sick fucker, you know that?”

The insult is only met with laughter, but even that’s better than the next moment, when he’s being rocked into harder, faster. With every push, he makes little “ _ah_ ” sounds he wishes desperately that he could tamp down. As if sensing the thought, Slade drags his head back by the hair and continues to use him like a sleeve, delighting in how torn down Jason sounds without a way to muffle his noises.

He placates himself with the thought that at least _this_ will be the end of it. Surely Slade wouldn’t keep him for more than tonight, and _surely_ he can’t go again after this round. There would at least have to be a refractory period, wouldn’t there? It would give Jason enough time to think his way out of here. Bust free of these chains and claw his way to freedom.

While Jason’s distracted by his daydreaming, Slade lets go of his hair and reaches around for his cock instead, which wakes him right up with a loud, panicked, “Slade!”

He’s ignored. Slade thumbs at his slit, spreads precum along the head with a deft swirl that makes Jason ache. He can’t suffer through any more intense stimulation, much less be able to _cum,_ if that’s what he’s expected to do. Still, he can’t find the words to argue when Slade stops fucking him long enough to grab the discarded vibrator and turn it on, pressing it flush against Jason’s cock until it’s trapped between the toy and his own stomach.

Tears spring to his eyes automatically, but he still doesn’t speak. Barely makes a sound beyond his initial reaction, which was a humiliatingly high-pitched whine that only encourages Slade to fuck him faster than before.

It goes on for so long, Jason thinks he might have bordered on the edge of unconsciousness a few times and barely realized it. The only thing that gets his attention this time is the jolt of unwanted arousal that hits him when Slade jacks the toy up to its highest setting and holds it cruelly tightly against him, just to watch him squirm and whimper some more.

“Beg,” he asserts again, but Jason is too preoccupied, panting hotly against the cement. He earnestly can’t tell whether the wetness beneath his cheek is made up of spit or tears or both. Slade’s hand cracks across his ass with a loud sound, and when Jason only arches his back and keens, he does it again, harder. And again. And again, until Jason’s sure there’s an angry red mark there from the way it burns at every touch.

He doesn’t jerk _away_ from the hand, but rather back toward it, impaling himself further along Slade’s cock like the glutton for punishment he is. Slade seems to realize it too, because damn him, of course he does. And the drag of his nails down the sensitive, red flesh is what makes Jason finally cave.

Weakly, he whines, “Please.”

“Please what?” Slade asks, and Jason’s relieved that he’s at least audibly more breathless than when they’d started.

Ashamed, he whispers, “Please cum. I—I want you to…”

“Yes, pet?” Slade goads, as expected.

“Inside,” Jason manages, barely. “Please, please, _please._ ”

Luckily, that seems to do the trick; Slade’s hips stutter with a violent start, and he drops the toy onto the ground, where it clatters noisily. The wet heat forcing its way through Jason’s abused hole is nothing compared to the intense wave of relief he gets when the vibrator finally leaves him, and even though he’s still hard, he’s far too overstimulated for pleasure—at least the kind that would be meaningful enough to bring him to a third orgasm.

When Slade pulls out, Jason moans softly at the loss and at the following trickle of ejaculate that drips down his balls, to the floor with audible smacks of sound. Grossly enough, it satisfies him. That isn’t right, he thinks, dizzily. It shouldn’t, but it makes him feel appropriately taken apart. _That_ isn’t right, either, but any thought beyond how tired he is gets thrown to the wind in the face of his defeat.

Dimly, he’s aware of the pressure of the shackles around his ankles disappearing, followed by the one around his neck. He doesn’t make a move to run. He doesn’t even think he could. Instead, he rolls over onto his sore, restrained arms and takes a shaky breath.

“Jesus, kid,” Slade offers as he lights a cigarette that seems to have materialized from thin air. “You’re a piece of work.”

“ _I_ am?” Jason accuses without the venom he means to muster. “Fuckin’ creep.”

Slade snorts in some semblance of a laugh and kneels so he can blow smoke in Jason’s face. “You oughta watch your mouth. It’s filthy.” Thoughtfully, he rubs the pad of his thumb across Jason’s spit-slicked lips. “I should fuck your face again,” he says afterward, eye glinting with cruel amusement at the flicker of worry in Jason’s. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, boy? Cleaning my cock for me? I know you’re hungry for it.”

“Fuck you!”

“You were just begging me to breed you, and now you want to be contrite. Kids these days have jack shit for manners.” Slade takes another long drag of his cigarette before putting it out atop a previous burn on Jason’s chest. He hisses but doesn’t flinch or push him away, a fact at which Slade smirks. “You’re certainly more fun than bird-boy.”

At the mention of Dick, Jason does bristle. He narrows his eyes at Slade, who looks altogether unconcerned. “Mention him again and I’ll kick your ass.”

Slade’s smirk becomes something meaner so fast it makes Jason turn icy down to his bones. During his long pause, the man smooths a hand down Jason’s softening erection and drags a scandalized gasp from his throat. Worse still, even without the shackles he doesn’t think about kicking until three fingers enter him and hook unforgivingly into the abused muscle. “You’re not going anywhere,” Slade all but growls. “I’m going to make you into a willing little hole to fuck if it kills us both.”

Despite the fear chasing up his spine, Jason’s face goes hot and his sneer comes off less threatening than he might’ve liked amid his flush. “In your dreams.”

Slade laughs, and the ominous threat lingering there is hard to miss. Just when Jason starts to move in anticipation to fight back, the burning end of the cigarette comes down on a nipple and he shouts in pain, unable to twist away while Slade begins fingering him in earnest. To his dawning horror, he can see that the man’s hard again in his pants, and cold dread seeps into him so far that he can’t will himself to move anymore.

When the cigarette gets flicked away, the next thing Slade picks up is the vibrator, still shiny with lube, albeit not enough that it could take away the sting when it gets forced back inside Jason’s body. At the tortuous sensation, he arches, throws his head back, and screams.

“You’re mine for as long as I want you, Hood,” Slade says. There’s no argument to be heard.


End file.
